Dark Thoughts
by Pippin4242
Summary: An aging shinigami knows that the thoughts he sometimes entertains about a younger colleague are inappropriate, but that isn't always enough to hold him back. Canon characters who go unnamed. Yaoi, solo. Probable oneshot.


A/N: Not much to say here, but I do hope people have as much fun reading this as I did writing it. My sincere thanks to Crucifer at board77 for his input and advice as a beta, and to Kyuuketsukinousagi over at DA for her encouragement and her excellent and very kind gift of an illustration for this short story.

Does anybody know if there's a way to put a link to it here?

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I shudder as the cool water cascades over my skin, dragging fine hairs away with it to the drain. They twist and turn like long snakes before plunging away into the blissful dark below. It was only a brush, I tell myself, nothing more than my hand rumpling the fabric covering his shoulder, as I nudged past him But no matter how I insist that the touch was a nothingness, a mere accidental brush, that will not make it any better. I can hardly bear to believe that such a tiny meaningless touch could make me betray myself like that. Thoughts of such a nature that I... no! I try to drown them as I massage the soap into my hair far too hard, and am rewarded by more snakes. I cannot believe I have been thinking like this. What provoked it? As if he were promiscuous, or dressed provocatively! Nothing could be farther from the truth. He was entirely innocent to the blood pounding in my ears as he moved carelessly out of my path. Innocent to the trembling of my hands and to my struggle to keep a normal smile upon my face as I felt the blood rushing to my crotch. As I remember, I can't believe how low I've fallen. I wish these thoughts would stop! But once I've told myself to stop thinking about him it becomes impossible as this growing obsession feeds upon itself like a snake encircling my life. Snakes again. I remember what they're purportedly a metaphor for, and I wish that for once I could have a single thought to myself without this alien pervert inside me joining in. Sometimes a snake is just a reptile. And a colleague should remain a distant workmate. 

One thought. That was all it took. "I wonder what he would look like naked?" An innocent enough thought, perhaps... in isolation. As soon as I tried to stop myself thinking of him naked, I wondered what it would feel like to cup his small buttocks in my hand, how big his penis might be, what he would look like gagged. As soon as I push one thought down, another surfaces, ten times worse than the last! Every time I glimpse a chance of redemption, every time I think my thoughts aren't so bad, his intelligent eyes flash at me during meetings and I feel myself growing red. It's not as if it were just us in those meetings. There are eleven other captains, amongst the rank both my lover and my teacher. My lover. Yes, that's right. I have a lover. We are supposed to be in love, for goodness sake.

Tonight I will go to my lover's room, and strip in silence. I will lie on his bed warm and still smelling of soap, and I will invite him to enter me. If I give myself up to him, perhaps his goodness will wipe out my evil. I will try and drown these perverted, disturbed thoughts in the rush of ecstasy he is able to bring me, and maybe I will be able to confess my sins. If I am to tell him, how will I say it? Will I hurt him more than if I keep this to myself? But what if he finds out on his own, and feels betrayed?

He thinks he knows me, and I have killed the man he loves. He thinks I love children. So I do. Now I find myself having to avoid them at all costs, terrified of attaching that horrific curiosity to a new victim in my mind. In trying not to examine my desires, lest I awaken still worse ideas, I will not contemplate them at all. I walk from place to place distracted, my every movement checked by the knowledge that I am a terrible person, and I cannot remember why.

Is he a child? Is he a child? In the human world any being of his years would be considered mature and beyond - likely even dead by now. But the fact remains that I desire him for the one thing that is truly beautiful about him; his sheer wide-eyed innocence, naked purity, illustrated in the fine lines of his child's body. Like a flower, if I were to take it for my own I would crush it.

There is not so much as a trace of soap left in my hair now, but I do not want to leave the safe, defined constraints of the shower stall. I close my eyes and see his staring back at me in fear, from a futon where he lies barely covered by a thin white sheet. Picture him slowly turning to face me, as the cover falls away.

I know that he would hate me in an instant if he knew, and the very knowledge seems to claw at my chest in shuddering gouges. The water continues to rattle against the tiled floor, but it sounds as if it is a room away, as the blood rushes in my ears, and invisible demons slash away at the core of my being. I gasp in pain as burning tears threaten to overwhelm my vision, and in desperation I lean back against the thin, cold wall of the shower stall. Slumping a little as I try to regain my composure, I realise that I have missed the signs that I am about to undergo another attack.

Of course, this shouldn't be an enormous setback. Not at my age, and with my experience. But today? Whilst my body trembles from the icy pang of the water with which I have surrounded myself, whilst my jaw aches and my head pounds with the tension of trying to rein in my errant thoughts, whilst my erection throbs between my aching legs, and whilst I rake my hands cruelly through my sodden hair in an attempt to destroy all thought, I must deal with the ravages of my illness? Already, the burning in my chest is starting to reach an unmanageable level. If only I had not been so foolishly distracted, I would have left the meeting early. I would have walked gently to my office upon the lake, I would have inhaled steam from the steeping of one of the fourth division's remarkable and entirely useless herb bundles, and I would have sent my third-seated officers upon time-consuming errands, so that they would not worry too much and crowd me. By the time that the attack reached the point at which I now find myself, I should have been entirely at leisure, with soft pillows behind my back, and a cascade of fresh white handkerchiefs at my disposal.

Alas, no. Today I had to be a fool, and somehow felt it necessary to picture that sweet, unmarked flesh, his soft tufts of snowy hair, the youthful pink of his nipples, the curved lines of his hipbones pressing up against the taut and well-trained flesh, pressing up against my chest as I lower myself upon him, ready to sear my love across his body in hot pink welts, tugging at the hard nubs of his nipples with my teeth, ignoring his desperate cries and struggles beneath my greater weight as I thrust up into his tight anus, trying not to cry out at the sudden exertion, for I do not want to spoil the beautiful, beautiful moment. For these wicked thoughts I will be paying the price in blood.

I gasp, and splutter a single, racking cough. Blood stains the water as it drains away. There is not much time left. I lower my hand, hesitate, then I clear my thoughts as best I can, and I close my hand about my erection. Cool and slick to touch from the shower, I can sense the hot blood pounding away beneath the skin, betraying a terrible burning desire within me. The few small drops of cum already weeping from the tip reveal themselves by their pearly sheen, even as they are pulled away by the continuing deluge from far above. Gently at first, I glide my right hand up and down my painfully hard organ, shuddering in guilty pleasure at allowing myself to seek release. Using my left hand I reach gingerly between my legs, afraid of even slight strain. I begin to fondle my testicles, reaching behind them with a single finger to stroke at the soft patch of skin which they conceal. Almost instantly it becomes clear that this is one contortion too many; my lungs tighten immediately in a terrifying spasm, and while I try and kneel upright to loosen my chest, I find myself moaning - the shock has increased my grip on my member to a clench which I find ridiculously arousing. I loosen my fingers a little and continue to pump. The clenching in my chest makes way for deep hollow coughs, and my wet hair slaps my face as I whip forwards into an involuntary crouch. I raise my left hand to my mouth in a most likely futile attempt to prevent myself from becoming completely covered in my own blood. Gasping, trying desperately to keep my breathing under control even as a low moan escapes me, I realise that the tightness in my chest has eased just a little. Sitting upright once more, I close my eyes, and focus myself on the picture engraved on their lids.

His lithe young body, straining fiercely at the expertly tied ropes. Muffled cries of indignation from behind the humiliating gag. His thrashing rumples the bedclothes, but he knows as well as I do that this is futile - nobody will be able to hear him. "Well," I say with a smile, as I lean down over him, "are you ready to learn some new tricks from this old man?" I begin to take my hakama off. He can only stare as I expose my penis to him, desperate to find solace. I join him on my futon, and gently caress his hair, slipping one conveniently lubricated finger into his anus, and feel his whole body jump with his mute gasp.

In my dreams, my illness never slows me down.

As I wallow in my blissful reverie, I try not to forget the task at hand. Pausing only once to heave another cough, hearing the splash as my blood joins the swirling mess of water and precum in which I kneel, I lower my left hand to my nipple, and tweak it once, sharply.

The pleasure is instant, like an electric shock coursing through my veins. I try to rein in my reiatsu, worried that I may seem cause for concern if it continues to fluctuate, but I cannot contain my loud moan of ecstasy. Oh, I'm so close now - if I can only hold out for just a minute longer...

Slowing the repeated agitation of my shaft somewhat, I use my index finger to caress the head, and am greeted by a flow of precum which, at my age, is frankly impressive. Now, where was I?

In my dream, it is his nipple that I pinch and twist at. He doesn't understand this unnerving pleasure, and he squirms and writhes. I thrust just once with my lubricated finger, and he bucks in a most exciting way. Lowering my body to join his, I remove the finger, and slowly but surely I make my way within him.

I groan, at some volume. Just as the deep coughing seizes me again, I come, quite suddenly, gushing across my hand as I loosen my grip upon my penis. Bliss engulfs me for a glorious but all too short while. And then I have to face what I have become. The water ran cold long ago. I am quivering like a leaf, scourged at ever-decreasing intervals by what seems to be a gigantic vulture ripping at my ageing, skinny chest. I am covered in blood and cum, and I am naked, and I don't know if I can reach a towel any more. Extending a suddenly-heavy arm high above my head, I manage to turn off the rattling roar of the shower, but somehow the noise doesn't stop. And then I realise that I am sobbing.


End file.
